


Farewell

by spica_starson



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Book Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Set in ‘The Lady of the Lake’ book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_starson/pseuds/spica_starson
Summary: Farewell, yet again. But this time, Geralt made sure to make it a good one.(A peek into what went through Geralt's mind after his argument with Dandelion in Beauclair and all that follows. Contains major spoiler from the last book.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Farewell

* * *

_‘Pure poetry,’ he finally said. ‘And it’s difficult to rival you at that. I won’t say another word. You’ve destroyed my arguments. Helped, I admit, by your quite apposite ones. Farewell, Dandelion.’_

_’Farewell, Geralt.’_

**  
( Andrzej Sapkowski _, The Lady of the Lake)_** _  
_

* * *

The sound of hooves galloping in a frenzy, as though pushed beyond its limit quickly approached them from behind, and Geralt would be lying if he said the sight of blond hair blown back against the wind didn’t fill him with joy.

They had no time at all to properly say goodbye, and any spare time he had left was spent with Fringilla—something he doesn’t truly regret, it was their last time after all. And now…he was so close to Ciri. And Yen. So _close_.

It didn’t even cross his mind to ask someone to let Dandelion know that they were leaving that very moment. By the time he realized, they were acres away from the castle already. Far too late.

The bard was visibly disheveled, no doubt rushing to reach them the moment he heard about them leaving. His signature beret was nowhere in sight, strands of hair tousled wildly around his head with nothing to keep them down. Even his doublet was hastily put on and secured. Guilt and relief burst and clashed in Geralt’s chest, even as he sneered:

“Just don’t say you’re finally riding with us.”

Jokingly, a tease. ~~Hopeful~~. Mostly. Probably. Right now, he wasn’t sure about a lot of things; the axis of his world tipped upside down in a snap of a finger once more, thanks to what he found out in Pomerol Castle.

The two of them admittedly haven’t had much time to talk after their huge…disagreement. It was hardly their first fight—any healthy relationship consists of confronting different opinions after all, as far as Geralt’s aware; and honesty plays such a huge factor in their friendship. Still, it was an experience he’d rather never repeat.

Unease had oozed out of the bard after he cornered him in the hallway weeks ago, eyes looking at everywhere but the Witcher; something he usually did when he has an important point he was getting to. And Geralt could feel it— _smell_ it even, rolling off of him in waves of tension from miles and miles away. At how his friend has been spending more and more time away from the hanza, cleverly avoiding a proper face-to-face with him by surrounding himself with doting servants, following behind him everywhere like a glob of attention-seeking children. One could certainly claim he was simply too busy being pampered by the Duchess, finally returning after months of exile.

But Geralt knew better.

Everything was screaming _‘Something’s going to happen’_ and he just- could stand it no more. Right as his friend tried to slowly assuage him into it, Geralt _snapped_.

“If you want to stay,” his mouth tasted like ash, blood rushing into his ear even as his own words fell flat; something inside of him withering away, leaving behind a small, pitiful seed of hope, “then stay.”

Cold blue eyes abruptly snapped up into molten gold, and they _burned_. Piercing and hot.

“I do.” The bard’s voice rang across the empty hallway, boldly, clearly. His eyes never left Geralt’s, scorching him from inside out. “And I will.”

And all of a sudden, Geralt’s whole world was violently swept away right under his nose.

Emptiness. Hollow-

(Just like when both of them somehow slipped out of his worn fingers in a single night, even when he desperately tried to hold onto them; hoping, _praying_ that it would last longer. Last forever, even.)

Hurtful words were thrown, as per usual—but this time it left a lingering, bitter aftertaste even after his friend made his points crystal clear, even after he conceded; confusion and hurt still raw in his heart until a certain someone put a balm to it.

Only then…only then did he truly understand why Dandelion chose to stay.

But now…

“No, Geralt,” spoke the poet quietly, head bowed. There was an odd lilt in his voice, a wistful tone that one could even mistake as regret. “I’m not. I’m staying here in Toussaint with my Little Weasal- I mean...with Anarietta. But I couldn’t not say farewell to you. Or wish you a safe journey.”

Ah, yes.

 _Farewell_ , the words they parted with after that terrible morning. Like the final slam of a nail on a coffin, hanging heavily and uncomfortably. Though they had been on better terms afterwards with him staying longer than he had intended, they never dared broach the subject again. Furthermore, it wasn’t exactly easy to find audience with the future consort of the Duchess either.

 _Farewell_ , yet again. But this time, Geralt made sure to make it a good one. If this were to be his last…

“Give us a hug, you old fool,” he said with a huff.

Steadying Roach beneath him, he carefully pulled the bard into his arms, the position slightly awkward what with them both mounted on horses. To his surprise, Dandelion all but sagged into the hug, arms quickly encapsulating him within them, squeezing tightly. Tight enough for him to not miss the unspoken apology, to which he only answered by resting his head into his friend’s shoulder. _No need to apologize, I understand._

“You promised, you hear me?” whispered the bard into his ears, voice strangely unsteady, his grip on his back tightening. The Witcher closed his eyes, sinking further into the hug in reply instead.

Breathing in deeply to memorize this moment: familiar heartbeat drumming gently against his chest, the heavy pouch of Dandelion’s contribution a grounding weight on his side, Geralt counted to three before finally leaning back to pull away. The poet’s eyes were glistening suspiciously when they separated, but before Geralt could take a closer look, he had blinked in rapid succession and the evidence was gone.

The others finally approached them to properly say goodbye to their beloved troubadour, clasping him in both a ferocious hug and a more casual side embrace or a pat; or in Milva’s case, with a quick punch on the shoulder preceding it. And if they had purposefully given the two close friends a moment to themselves before, no one bothered to point it out. There was no need.

As they watched Dandelion ride off back to Beauclair with sunlight slowly but surely disappearing into the horizon, Geralt felt the oppressive stone in his chest had lifted considerably.

The stone was still there, of course; and it would stay until he had both his ward and beloved safely in his arms, but still—it was another burden he wouldn’t have to worry about any longer.

“Let’s go.”

And finally, they rode off into the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Who else was broken to pieces reading that scene? Cuz I most definitely still am. I needed to write this, mostly for my own closure as well. The fact that they hugged before they separated...I'm still not over that. It hurt, but at the same time I'm so glad they parted in good terms; not to mention with a promise to return too<3 Definitely one of my favorite scenes! Even if it hurts haha;; 
> 
> Feedback/comments are appreciated!


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